Ben was going to make a great doctor, and that their paths would continue to cross for years to come.
“On my way, bro,” he grinned, feeling strangely as if he were somehow walking into a future whose door was just now cracking open ever so slightly. “We’ll have her up and runnin’ in no time!”
Ben couldn’t help smiling as he watched Ryan dash off for the first aid kit. The guy’s a little weird, but definitely one of a kind, he mused. I like that about him—decisive, fearless, friendly, and certainly not shy. I wonder if he’s any good as a guitarist? Oh well, guess I’ll find out soon enough, he mused as Ryan rushed back. “Ok, Ryan, grab the ammonium carbonate…smelling salts,” he added with a smile, noting the perplexed look on his face. “This should bring her around,” he laughed as he unscrewed the small bottle and held it under Sarah’s nose.
Almost immediately her nose wrinkled, her brow furrowed, and her eyes popped open. “Ugh!” Sarah moaned. “What is that awful smell?”
“Just a little reminder to wake up!” Ben grinned. “Your partner here was beginning to think you didn’t like him!”
“Oh, I’m so embarrassed!” Sarah replied, just now realizing that she was on the floor and Ben was holding her in his arms. “Guess I really made a scene, didn’t I?”
“Pretty much,” Ryan smiled, extending a hand to help her up. “Didn’t you tell me you wanted to be a brain surgeon?” he winked.
“Ha, ha!” Sarah answered, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “Maybe a dermatologist!” she grinned. “Skin-deep is quite far enough for me.”
“Sounds like an ‘aha’ moment,” Ben teased, hopping up from his support position on the floor. “Ok, everybody, show’s over, back to work now. Everybody make a nice, clean ventral incision and let’s see what made this little piggy tick!”
“Oh god,” moaned Sarah as she tried to steady herself by leaning against the lab table.
Ryan quickly reached over and grabbed her around the waist, easing her back onto her stool. “Sarah, we’ve gotta move on here. You just sit down, take a few deep breaths, and let me do the cutting. Try to think of it as your purse, and we’re just opening it up to see what all’s inside. It’s no big deal, really. You’ll get used to it, I promise!”
“If you say so,” Sarah replied, feeling anything but reassured by Ryan’s analogy. “Purse, huh?” she repeated, still looking a bit pale and wobbly.
“Well, it was the best I could come up with under the circumstances,” Ryan shrugged, secretly hoping to at least avoid further stomach contents heading his way anytime soon.
“I’ll try to remember that next time you’re cutting away at the little piglet—we’re just going through the purse, looking for our stuff, right?” She smiled weakly.
“You got it, girl!” Ryan winked. “Now let’s get back to work. Believe it or not, I really have been looking forward to this for several weeks, so let’s see what’s in our purse, darlin’, shall we?”
“Ok, I feel a little better now, anyway. Let’s give it a go!”
“Now you’re talkin’! Just take some deep breaths and try to relax. I’ll do the cutting and you just sit there and hold the stool down, ok?”
“Smart-ass!”
“Totally true, but you owe me now. Don’t forget, ’cause I certainly won’t!” Ryan grinned.
“I’m sure that’s true,” Sarah conceded, secretly wondering what cosmic karma might be headed her way. “Just give me fair warning, ok?”
“Sure, just like you did me, right?”
“Colossal smart-ass!”
“Scalpel, please!” Ryan quipped with a mischievous grin, which he felt certain would cement today’s little porcine adventure indelibly in Sarah’s memory.
chapter 9
Neo-Nonsense
Portland, Oregon
October 26, 2002
It was just after 9:30 on Saturday evening when Blood, Buzz, and Big Bear finished loading the trunk of Buzz’s ’92 black Ford Mustang, piled in, and headed west on the Sunset Highway toward Beaverton. It was a typical October evening in Portland, overcast and about 55 degrees. The lights from the fancy homes on the hill twinkled above them as they approached the tunnel that passed through the mountain and on to the western suburbs. It was only about nine miles to their destination, but at the moment, they all wished it were farther. No one in the car was a stranger to petty crime, but this time Damien’s orders were far more serious, and they were all a bit edgy.
“Hey man, pass me a beer,” Big Bear, who was sitting shotgun, called back to Blood, the sole occupant of the rear seat.
“Better all have a round,” added Buzz from behind the wheel. “I think we need to lighten up here, it’s not good to be nervous.” Buzz knew that showing any sign of weakness was not cool, but he rather doubted that there would be any accusers in the car tonight. His own heart was racing, his knuckles white as they tightly gripped the wheel. “Cornell exit?” he asked his copilot.
“Yeah, exit right, then left over the freeway.” Looking down at his map, he added, “You’re gonna make another quick left onto NW 158th, then your second right onto NW Blueridge. Got that?”
“I think so,” Buzz replied nervously. “Ok, I’m on 158th, where do I turn after Blueridge?”
“Second left is the target street, NW Foxborough. It’s a U, which comes back out onto Blueridge. Their house will be on the left, set back in the trees, just as you start to bend back toward Blueridge. Cut the lights when you see the mailbox and park on the street. House number is 114.”
“Almost there. Gimme another beer. I’m gonna need it tonight for sure,” he added as Blood passed another forward. “Ok, see the mailbox? Lights-out, guys.”
It was about 9:50 as Buzz parked the car at the curb and started on his second beer. “Blood, you got the video cam?” he asked, looking back over his right shoulder.
“Yeah, man, no problem. Right here in my pocket,” he smiled, patting his right coat pocket.
“And the girl…you sure she’ll be there?”
Blood smiled again. “Yeah, pretty sure. My friend that knows her says she doesn’t go out much. Just studies a lot. No dog either, in case you’re worried. Dr. Q left earlier for some weeklong seminar in San Diego, so coast should be clear.”
“Ok,” Buzz assented, still a bit nervously. “Bear, you bring the gasoline and the matches. I got the clothes and the ties. Five more minutes till ten, then it’s party time! You guys drink up!”
*****
Mariah Quitan shifted her position on the couch and adjusted the reading light over her right shoulder. She had been lying on the couch reading for the last two hours, struggling with Rupert Sheldrake’s “A New Science of Life,”
